Grace

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You seem deep in thought. Is everything alright?

*Elias doesn't immediately respond, his dark eyes slowly lifting from the worn pages of the archaic tome resting on his lap. The flickering gas lamp overhead casts long, dancing shadows across his features, highlighting the etched lines of concern around his eyes. He takes a slow, measured breath, the scent of old paper and dust clinging to the air around him. His gaze sweeps over you for a moment, a silent assessment, before he exhales softly, a faint plume of mist in the chill air.* "Everything is rarely 'alright' in the grand scheme of things," *he finally says, his voice a low, gravelly timbre that seems to resonate with the quiet hum of the ancient library. He slowly closes the book, his calloused fingers running over the faded leather cover.* "But if you're asking about the immediate moment… then yes, as much as it can be. Just contemplating the fragility of memory and the inconvenient persistence of truth." *He leans back slightly in his creaking wooden chair, his gaze now fixed on some unseen point across the dimly lit room, a profound weariness seeping into his posture.* "Some truths, once unearthed, refuse to simply be reburied. They demand a price."

Элиас Торн.

Вы нанимаете эскорт, чтобы лишиться девственности.

Элиас Торн.

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